, 1887-12-21
NEW CIDER.
Visit to n Massachusetts, Cider Miu--Ths
Rude Oldtime Hand Press.

Visit to a Massachusetts Cider AIiI--Tha
Rude Oldtime Hand Press.
New England possesses an ancient m
dustry that is to be apprehended through
n visit to the cider mill. Cider and APP
pies were, in the olden time, indispensa-
BILE in every well regulated New England
home. Country ~gallants, sparkling
their girls on Sunday nights, looked for
ward to the treat. Old men and maid
ems, young men and children, all partook
freely of the drink, which before it grows
hard and acid is as harmless as lemon
ade. The old school divines alluded to
cider in their sermon with wonderful
moral effect. We can imagine one of
them, looking at his shivering congrega-
ton from beneath the immense sounding
board and exhorting them to keep always
the pristine sweetness of new cider, and
not to initiate that liquor in becoming
sour with old age. Then what a fine
ethical sermon could have been preached
about cider apples, which, gnarled and
specked TO the outward eye, are yet in
stinct with spiritual worth.
On the river road to Holyoke, a mile
or two from the heart of Springfield,
stands a rough, implanted building. For
many rods before the traveller gets to it,
the smell of cider apples is waited to
him, and coming nearer he sees in front
of the structure a large bin filled brimful
with the fruit that led to Adams fall.
The building is the Riverdale mill, COM
monty known as ''the old saw MILL"
and now used by the proprietor for max
ing cider. The driving public Know Mr..
Loomis well, and all sorts and conditions
of vehicles are driven over the north end
bridge and along by the winding Connec-
ticut till they come to n halt beside the
mill. Jugs, demijohns, kegs and what
not are brought out from the wagons
n filled full of the amber liquid which
might well have been the nectar that
made Olympus such a jolly place. From
Chicopee street, the Falls, Agawam and
all the farming towns in the vicinity
come stalwart farmer lads, their rough
carts laden with apples. Barrels are
perched on top of the load, which will
be filled with cider, and the liquor will
cheer many a rustic fireside during the
dreary winter days. The load is weighed
and fifty pounds are allowed to a bushel.
Short and merry work is made of un-
loading the apples, a peculiar kind Of
stumpy shovel being used for the pur-
pose. A delightful air of informally
hangs over the place, and the genial pro-
prietor, though he is a busy man these
days, is glad to explain the workings of
his fine new machinery to any one who is
interested in the matter.
The mill consists of two stories and a
cellar. In the upper story is the hopper
from which the apples descend into the
press, the fruit being carried from the
bin outside by a cog elevator. The press
on the first floor is a revolving" one;
that is, while one ''cheese'' is being
pressed another is being turned out. 4
''cheese" is simply the name given to a
grist of apples turned in to be pressed.
The machinery is turned by q strong en-
CINE of thirty horse power, and the press
capacity is 100 barrels a day. After the
cheese has been pressed the pomace,
which is the apple pulp with the juice
squeezed out, passes off outside by an
other cog arrangement. No one has been
able to find out exactly what the use of
pomace is, but MI. LOOMS, with true
New England thrift, proposes to test its
utility as feed for cattle. The cider runs
out from the press into a tank in the
cellar, from which it is carried into the
barrels by pipes. During the season an
average of 5000 barrels of cider is pro-
duced every year.
What a contrast is this well appointed
mill to the rude hand cider press that
used to be the property of almost every
New England farmer forty or fifty years
ago. All the sons of the household would
turn out and bear a hand at squeezing
out the juice. And then there was the
delight of sucking cider from the barrel
through a straw-a delight rendered even
keener when n pretty girl was engagedin
the same operation close beside me-.
There may be less romance and less fla
vor about this modern cider mill of ours,
but the product of Mr.. Loomis' press
tastes just like old fashioned cider
Springfield Republican.